Her Convenient Forever: Touches of Austen, #5

By Leenie Brown

He needs to marry to claim his inheritance. She needs a father for her baby.

 

Pregnant and abandoned, Felicity Love faces a bleak future. Even though her father has promised to care for both her and her child, what she truly longs for - a home of her own and a husband to adore her - can never be hers. For who would want a fallen woman?

 

Boyd Hedrington knows grief. It has been his constant companion since his wife died, and he has no idea how he is going to put it aside in order to take a bride and fulfill the stipulations of his uncle's will. However, with time quickly ticking away for him to get married, he must find a bride whether he wishes to or not.

 

Therefore, after meeting Felicity and learning about her condition, he decides that a marriage of convenience would be the best solution for them both. And, in a way, it is. Felicity will have a father for her child and a home of her own, while Boyd gains a mother for his son and can claim his inheritance outright. But how do two grieving hearts find contentment and solace in each other? And is love truly destined to be an unrequited desire for something which has been lost forever?

 

Her Convenient Forever is the fifth book in Leenie Brown's Touches of Austen series. If you like marriage of convenience stories and tales of redemption and hope rising above despair, then you'll enjoy this sweet Regency romance about finding love amidst the trials of life.

 

So, put the kettle on, grab your copy of Her Convenient Forever, and join Felicity and Boyd as they learn about one another and discover the resiliency of their hearts.

 

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Previous books in this series: 

1. His Beautiful Bea (Graeme and Beatrice's story)
2. His Darling Friend (Roger and Victoria's story) 
3. Her Secret Beau (Walter and Grace's story) 
4. His Irreplaceable Belle (Fritz and Belle's story) 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leenie B Books
• Release date: Mar 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9781989410660

Leenie Brown

Leenie Brown has always been a girl with an active imagination, which, while growing up, was a both an asset, providing many hours of fun as she played out stories, and a liability, when her older sister and aunt would tell her frightening tales.  At one time, they had her convinced Dracula lived in the trunk at the end of the bed she slept in when visiting her grandparents! Although it has been years since she cowered in her bed in her grandparents’ basement, she still has an imagination which occasionally runs away with her, and she feeds it now as she did then ─ by reading! Her heroes, when growing up, were authors, and the worlds they painted with words were (and still are) her favourite playgrounds!  She was that child, under the covers with the flashlight, reading until the wee hours of the morning…and pretending not to be tired the next day so her mother wouldn’t find out. In addition to feeding her imagination, she also exercises it ─ by writing. While writing has been an activity she has dabbled in over the years, it blossomed into a full-fledged obsession when she stumbled upon the world of Jane Austen Fan Fiction.  Leenie had first fallen in love with Jane Austen's work in her early teens when she was captivated by the tale of a girl, who like her, was the second born of five daughters.  Now, as an adult, she spends much time in the regency world, playing with the characters from her favourite Jane Austen novels and a few that are of her own creation. When she is not traipsing down a trail in an attempt to keep up with her imagination, Leenie resides in the beautiful province of Nova Scotia with her two sons and her very own Mr. Brown (a wonderful mix of all the best of Darcy, Bingley and Edmund with a healthy dose of the teasing Mr. Tilney and just a dash of the scolding Mr. Knightley).

Book preview

Chapter 1

The sea lapped at the sand below her. A group of gulls dipped and soared before landing just out of reach of the rolling waves. A breeze steady, but gentle, pulled at her skirts, and tugged at her bonnet. The sun peeked out from behind a light grey cloud. If only her heart felt as perfectly lovely as the weather.

Felicity Love opened the small box she held but quickly closed it again. This must be done, but…

She turned away from the edge of where the land dropped from where she stood to the beach far below. Perhaps tomorrow she would feel more prepared.

Turning yet further away from the cliff, she walked in the direction of the road which would take her to the small cottage her father had rented.

This place and this time away from home was her reprieve – her place to grieve and her place of solace, where her heart was supposed to mend enough to face the future. But how could a heart, which had been shattered as hers was, repair itself in just two months?

She stopped, blew out a breath, closed her eyes, and drew in another breath only to once again blow that one out slowly before repeating the process with a new draught of salty sea air. She listened to the cry of the gulls, the soft whisper of the wind, and the rolling of the ocean. If she focused on those things, it might be possible to outlast this wave of nausea without retching.

For two minutes she stood there, thinking of nothing but the bits of nature she could observe without the use of her eyes. A small longing for her bed crept into the back of her mind. To sleep away all that she had experienced in Bath and at home, as well as the future she faced, would be a blessing of immeasurable size.

A tear escaped her closed eyelids. She let it slide down her cheek and did not bother to even attempt to keep more tears from joining it. She had had her fill of pretending – pretending to be well, pretending not to care, pretending that the future would not be as horrid as she knew it would be. Pretending was tiring and not as a long walk might be. No, pretending to be well when one was not was the sort of exertion that caused one’s bones to ache and muscles to collapse from their strength being completely exhausted.

The box in her hand grew heavy as she allowed her sorrow its freedom.

She turned back toward the sea. It had to be done. She could not continue as she had been.

Slowly, with steps that seemed to be weighed down by bricks in her boots, she made her way to the cliff’s edge once more. Upon reaching her destination, she opened the box and cast the lid out into the void of space before her so that she could not replace it on the box.

Next, she removed the lock of hair – his hair – from the box. Holding it securely in her closed hand, she lifted her fist to her lips and whispered goodbye to what was supposed to have been, before opening her hand and allowing the breeze to lift each piece of hair from her outstretched palm until not a strand remained.

The box was next. She hesitated, remembering the day he had given this to her. Then, she held it out as far as she could over the edge of the cliff and allowed it to drop. It took several minutes before she heard it splinter on the ground below her.

Everything was gone. Every sentimental reminder of the man, who had claimed to love her but had abandoned her, had been destroyed.

Nausea gripped her again, and just as she had last time, she closed her eyes and drew a breath. She placed a hand on her abdomen. Not every reminder of Simon Ramsey was gone. There was one that would remain with her for the rest of her life. Oh, to be able to wake from this dreadful reality and find it was not reality at all but rather an appallingly horrid dream!

How stupid she had been! How utterly stupid! But Simon had sounded so sincere when he had pledged his undying love to her. He had not wavered in passion when declaring that he would marry her. There had been no sign at all of his deception – not a single hint had betrayed his duplicity.

And now, because of her willingness to believe his pretty words, she would bear his child and all the shame that went with such a thing.

She peeked over the edge of the cliff to the shore below. Would it hurt much to cast herself off the cliff? Would she suffer for a long time, laying bloody and broken on the beach, or would death come quickly?

She clutched her queasy stomach. She might deserve, and even welcome, such an end, but this child – the one that was growing within her through no fault of its own – did not deserve such a fate. He or she would be loved. Her father had promised that neither Felicity nor her child would ever want for anything – ever. He would see to it, for he loved her no matter what wrongs she had committed.

She stumbled backward and sank to her knees as nausea began to make her head spin. She leaned forward onto her hands, breathing deeply.

Could she ever love as deeply as her father did? She shook her head and allowed the wave of anguish, which accompanied such a thought, to crash over her while pushing down the thought of throwing herself off the cliff and ending her pain even if it took more pain to find that end.

She buried her face in her hands as sobs shook her body. She was a selfish creature. She always had been. There was not a time in her life when she could remember doing anything to please someone other than herself. However, she would not continue to be so. She would endure this present torment, not for herself or even for her father or mother, but for her child.

Miss, miss, are you well?

The sound of someone calling and boots crashing through the long grass filtered into Felicity’s awareness.

Miss, are you well? A gentleman knelt beside her and placed his hand on her shoulder.

I barely know, she answered. She was breathing and not dead, but she did not know whether that was a good thing or not.

What can I do to help you? He asked as he removed his hand from her shoulder.

There is nothing which can be done, she answered honestly, more to herself than to him. I must just bear this. There really was no other choice, was there? How she longed for there to be another choice.

The warmth of his person, which lingered inside his jacket, wrapped around her.

Do you live far from here?

Quite far, she replied. My home is half a day’s drive from here, but my parents and I are staying in a cottage just down that road. She pointed behind her and to the left. It is the first house you come to. She attempted to smile at him. He was not so handsome as some, but he had kind brown eyes and longish, windblown brown hair with tinges of golden sunlight, that gave him a sort of dashing appearance.

Then, allow me to assist you in finding your way home. Can you walk? His hand was on her elbow.

I am sure I can so long as the dizziness does not return, and my stomach does not churn too much. With his help, she rose to her feet.

We can stop so often as you need, he assured her.

Thank you. She began to remove his jacket, but his hand on hers stopped her.

No, put it on. You are unwell, and, therefore, you must stay warm.

I am quite recovered, she lied.

Her protest was met with a raised eyebrow and a stern expression.

Very well, she acquiesced, putting her arms into the sleeves of his jacket with his assistance.

And now, you must take my arm. A lady who falls to her knees on such a fine day as today requires assistance. He held his arm out to her and smiled.

I appreciate it. And she did. Having an arm on which to lean was a very helpful thing when one was feeling wobbly.

You were standing very close to the edge, he said after they had walked halfway to the road. When I was coming up from down there, he used his walking stick to indicate the direction to the left of them, I was fearful you might slip and plunge over the edge.

There was no need for your concern, sir. I was not going to fall. At least she was not going to fall by accident.

They walked on in silence until they reached the road.

Forgive me, he said, I have just realized that I have not yet given you my name. It was a terrible oversight on my part; however, now that my heart has returned to beating as it should rather than as if it wished to outrun a prize stallion, my mind is free to remember what I should be doing.

She had frightened him – a stranger who did not know the first thing about her?

He stopped, removed her hand from his arm, and, said with a bow, Mr. Boyd Hedrington at your service, ma’am.

Felicity curtseyed. Miss Felicity Love.

He presented her with his arm once again. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Love.

I find I concur, Mr. Hedrington.

He glanced at her skeptically. Are you certain?

She blinked. Why would I not be certain that I am happy to meet you?

You looked over the edge of the cliff as if contemplating something of a grave nature. He paused, before adding softly. I thought perhaps I had prevented you from holding to your purpose.

You have a very unusual accent, Felicity replied, turning the subject. I am sure I have not heard it before.

Ah, yes, it is difficult to hide that one is not originally from England if one does not sound English.

You are not from England? She had never met anyone who was not from England before. She knew several people who had travelled to various destinations and returned, but they were from England no matter where their journeys had taken them for a time.

No, indeed, I am not.

Then, where are you from?

Nova Scotia by way of the American Colonies. He gave her a lopsided grin. Which I do know are not colonies any longer. However, they were colonies when I was born and were only recently not colonies any longer when my family fled to Nova Scotia.

You were there during the war? She had met soldiers who had been in a war, but this was the first person she had met who had lived where there was a war.

I was, though, I really had very little idea what war was or was not at the time. I was only four when we moved. He straightened his shoulders. And now, my son is four, and we are here.

You have a son?

He nodded. He is a quiet little scamp.

Do you have any daughters?

No. It is just me and Matthias.

Her brow furrowed. Did he mean to say he had no wife? Felicity wished to ask but knew it would be far too forward.

My wife died shortly before we were set to sail for England.

Felicity gasped. How sad!

Indeed. The loss of a life always is, is it not?

I suppose it is.

Their conversation lapsed into silence as Felicity considered a young child losing his mother and a husband being left suddenly without his wife. Had he loved his wife? She glanced up at him.

He caught her glance and held her gaze. His expression was as serious as any she had ever seen. Did you think about death when you were looking so intently over the edge of the cliff?

Her eyes widened, but she did not look away. She could not. Her lips trembled as tears welled in her eyes.

What prevented you from falling?

Should she tell him?

I shall not judge you.

I fear that is an impossible promise to keep, she replied.

I will do my best to keep it, he assured her.

She looked ahead of them. They were nearly to the cottage. She drew a breath and released it as she considered if she should reply or not. It was not as if she would see this stranger again, and it might be best to discover what censure she would face once her condition became obvious to all.

What prevented you? His voice was soft and gentle.

She placed a hand on her abdomen, and without lifting her eyes from the study of the path before her, she admitted her folly to him with two simple words. My child.

Chapter 2

Her child.

The weight of such an admission settled on Boyd like a blanket of iron. Silence encircled the two of them as he struggled with exactly how to respond to such a confession. She had introduced herself as Miss Love, and she had also said it would be impossible for him not to condemn her. While he was not the sort to immediately cast judgment, he had to admit the thought that she must either possess loose morals or lack intelligence did enter his mind. However, he pushed those thoughts